Autumnal list-based enthusiasm

In quite a stark contrast to my previous post (which you were all lovely about, you darlings), I thought I'd go for a lighter one this time. Also, I like listing things. Therefore: here are some lists of things that have been particularly excellent lately.

Five tip-top TV shows
Ah, autumn. It's so generous and thoughtful of the television networks to stack the schedules with fabulous shows when it's too cold to go outside.

The Hour

HEY EVERYONE, WATCH THIS SHOW. Series 2 started on Wednesday, and oh sweet lord how I have missed the magnificence of this programme. Set in a 1950s BBC newsroom, it follows Bel (Romola Garai) as head producer of a weekly news show, balancing her commitment to presenting the balanced truth with the pressures of management and the network's restrictions. Her frontman, Hector(Dominic West) is caught up in the whirlwind of new celebrity, while Freddie (Ben Whishaw) - sparky, irresponsible, idealistic journalist; Bel's right hand man, partner in crime, soulmate, etc.- is back from finding himself abroad, sweeping into a co-host role, giving The Hour back its zest.

Series one was staggeringly good - tense, smart, tuned-in, incredibly well-observed, and the three leads have the most preposterously brilliant chemistry. Series two adds to the mix Peter Capaldi as the enigmatic new Head of News Randall Brown (with a gloriously suggestive history with Anna Chancellor's fabulous Lix), and sexy lion* Tom Burke as Bel's rival producer. It's sumptously styled, gorgeously shot and staggeringly well acted, and basically you should all watch it, k?

Parks and Recreation

Anybody who knows me will most likely be sick of me evangelising about this show, but sweet lord it's just the most delightful, charming gift of a TV show - like sunshine distilled into 20 minute bursts. It follows the staff of the parks department of Pawnee city goverment, but basically just deals in awesome friendships, idealistic community work and heart-breakingly gorgeous relationships between adorable bureaucrats. What more could you want?

Fresh Meat

I can't believe I missed out on this show the first time around - I'd heard people taking about how great it was, but only got round to watching series one this month. Which, of course, I fell in love with and binge-watched with hideous speed, before moving onto series two. AT first I thought it was just a silly teen comedy show, but BAM there go the feelings, what with JP's posho daddy issues and everybody starting to lean on each other like a constructed family and oh god I just love these drunken idiots.

Elementary

Elementary is brilliant. It's not a Sherlock rip-off, and deserves none of the derision it has received from certain circles. It's a procedural, but it's smartly written and beautiful to look at. But, of course, the Holmes/Watson dynamic is what matters: and, oof, it's good. Lucy Liu's Watson is unapologeticly herself, taking none of Holmes' shit, and Holmes slowly starts to appreciate her instinct and emotion. Holmes himself is darker, more broken than other interperetations -- he's overwhelmed by his own mind; he's fragile and occasionally callous, but he's learning. Jonny Lee Miller is a marvel (and just preposterously good looking, it's gross).

Guys with Kids

A daft comedy about three dads and their kids? Yeah, it's hardly groundbreaking, but it's fun and sweet and, you guys, Jesse Bradford has a career! You can't imagine how happy this makes me - formative crush Jesse Bradford, on my telly once a week!

Runners up (aka. watch these things too): Modern Family (S4 is stellar so far); The Mindy Project (so charming!); New Girl (just keeps getting better); Me and Mrs Jones (don't talk to me about my Robert Sheehan thing).

Five earworms

McFly -- Love Is Easy. The perfect dreamy pop song (plus a wonderful video).

Charlene Kaye -- Hummingbird Heart. My favourite album track changes almost daily, and it's currently this.

Zooey Deschanel -- Who's That Girl? The sunniest song to ever exist.

The Reindeer Selection -- Whodunnit? Thrown my way by Ed, bringer of all the Scottish-accented goodies.

One Direction -- Kiss You. Shut up.

Five interesting and excellent articles/pieces of writing

Chelsea Fagan, 'I Will Always Care Too Much.

riotrite on Tumblr, 'Misandry Isn't Real, Dudez'

Jen Dziura, 'When Men Are Too Emotional To Have A Rational Argument'

Steven Thompson of NPR, on music snobbery.

Ryan O'Connell, 'The People You Will Fall In Love With In Your Twenties'

Five chunks of eye candy

Yeah, this wouldn't be a proper Hannah blog post without some mild objectification.

Jonny Lee Miller -- situation: critical. He keeps making faces like this and this and I am powerless.

Ben Whishaw -- sexy elf king, talented bastard to boot. Just the most wonderful actor.
Louis Smith -- sambaing me into incoherence. Thank God Sophie is here to share in the #winterofhypocrisy.

Jesse Bradford -- purveyor of formative sexy teeth cleaning; still as handsome and charming as ever.

Dylan O'Brien -- pushes every one of my buttons. Every. Single. One.

Five slices of all-round excellence

-- The Lizzie Bennet Diaries. A video-blog retelling of Pride and Prejudice. Bear with me: it's properly excellent, and everyone is charming and adorable. You'll get addicted, I promise you.

-- This photo of Obama and McKayla Maroney doing the unimpressed face. I just. Beautiful troll president!

-- These poems. Thanks, Sophie <3

-- Nobody hates Twilight more than Robert Pattinson: a roundup.

-- A 24-hour KITTEN CAM I shit you not.

*SUCH A SEXY LION.

On 'political correctness', and trying not to be a dick

"Rape culture is a culture in which people who have survived a violent crime are asked to laugh about it because other people think it’s funny" - Anon*

This post has been kicking around my head for a few months now, changing format and gathering ammo from the dozens of brilliant articles tackling similar issues (no doubt far more articulately than I will here). It's probably going to be full of mistakes and won't be by any stretch of the imagination conclusive, but I needed to try and write things out somehow.

A fair number of my friends take this piss out of me for being Politically Correct. Overly so, apparently. It's got to the point where people will introduce me with 'this is Hannah, she's really PC', and will say questionable things to try and get a rise out of me. Whatever, that's fine, I can deal with that. This blog post isn't a self-piteous "oh man, people are so mean to me when I try to do good, life is so hard", because that would be ridiculous. This is, I hope, my reasoning for being the way I am. I don't want a cookie or a gold star, nor do I deserve one; I just want to have some kind of coherent explanation.

I'm pretty sure political correctness is bullshit, as a concept. People frequently state that, when they're called out on questionable and problematic language, it's "political correctness gone mad", and the culture we live in today is too sensitive and people get offended too easily. BULLSHIT. As this excerpt explains far more eloquently than I can, I see the use of 'PC' language (i.e. not using terms that are racist, sexist, ableist, sizeist, ageist, classist, homo- or trans-phobic, plus other -ists I am no doubt forgetting**) is basically realising that, hey, these words are offensive, and maybe as a person in a privileged position I shouldn't be throwing them around willy nilly. It's not censorship, it's not a violation of freedom of speech, it's the world standing up for itself and asking not to be treated like shit.

Using these words perpetuates a culture in which it's okay to malign minorities; regardless of the intent behind the use of the word, its use still has an effect. Just because you say a word and 'don't mean it in that way' doesn't erase the cultural history of the word actually being meant in that way. Take the Ricky Gervais debacle -- Gervais insisted that his use of ableist terms was harmless, that he was reappropriating a word, that he didn't mean it as an insult. Nope: Gervais isn't in the position to reclaim a word's meaning, and regardless of how clear his own conscience is, it's still using an offensive term where you needn't, and by doing so, implicitly saying that it's okay to do so.

I read Richard Herring's blog post on the whole shebang and rejoiced as he explained my single, overarching opinion on this and similar matters: why not just NOT say the word? It's not a monumental fucking sacrifice to not use a term that a) has absolutely, unequivocally been offensive in the past and b) can and does remain offensive to some people in the present. Don't say it, use another word. It's not that hard. It's not hard AT ALL. We don't lose anything by not saying these words, by not making the inappropriate joke or generalisation, but we might gain an insight into what it's like to treat people fairly, and not contribute to the never-ending shitstorm that so many people face in everyday life.

The usual reaction to this kind of argument is 'but FREEDOM OF SPEECH, I am being CENSORED'. Your freedom to say the douchey thing remains entirely intact, but this does not entail a freedom to do so without people reacting to it, calling you out on it, or being offended. Freedom of speech is incredibly important, but I happen to think that 'don't be a dick' is a better #1 rule. Not being a dick is super easy, and in a small way might make the world a bit nicer - sounds pretty swell to me.

I found this online about two hours after making this post, and just had to add it. (source)

(I see the same argument all the time when people call out -isms in popular culture, too: "oh it's just a TV show/film/book, stop overanalysing it", as if the media culture with which we are saturated has no effect on what we think, say and do. BULLSHIT. Media doesn't exist in a vacuum. Culture matters. Representation matters. Not being a dick matters.)

A good deal of recent articles have dealt with this in reference to rape humour. This article on Jezebel - which I would quite like to etch permanently across the ozone so everyone can read it - articulates the same argument perfectly. See also the quote at the top of this article (when I first read that, it was like a punch in the gut). I have not been sexually assaulted, and therefore it would be twattish of me to joke about it, particularly knowing how frequent sexual assault is, and not knowing whether anybody in the vicinity might be a survivor. This is why jokes about abuse, Jimmy Savile hallowe'en costumes and casually using the word 'rape' in everyday conversation sucks - because the crime itself is a violent, hideous one and, for some people, hearing that could be horribly, horribly triggering and distressing. Same goes for other offensive speech terms.

JUST DON'T SAY IT. IT'S NOT THAT HARD.

Oh god, the more I read this back, the more it really does look like I'm asking to be lifted on high for being morally superior. I promise that is not the case; white saviour-ing is patronising. By trying not to say certain words I'm not better, I'm just trying to be less of a dick - trying being the most important word. I am still a dick. I still use offensive terminology, I still laugh at inappropriate things, but I listen when people speak up, realise what a dick I've been and make an effort to stop. It's not miraculous behaviour, it's basic human decency. I'm not losing out, being censored, or sacrificing anything.

This article about the use of more savvy, less offensive symbols in British Sign Language explains things quite well, too, and highlights the final point of this whole business. Another reactionary argument is "well my [insert minority] friend says that all the time". So they should; as a person in a privileged position (white, middle class, straight, cisgendered) I don't have the right to tell a person in a minority how to behave, but they have the right to tell me, because they're the ones who have suffered. I don't know better, and they do. If someone in a minority isn't offended by a minority-specific term and wants to use it themselves, awesome, but if they are I'll change my behaviour. The onus of responsibility shouldn't be on the victim to not be offended, as suggested by some assholes; it should be on the person in the more powerful position, who is thankfully free from the weight of centuries of oppression to not perpetuate it***. Because it's not a sacrifice for us, it really isn't. It's easy.

It's tough when someone calls you out on being a dick. It sucks. But it sucks much less than constantly hearing offensive and cruel language that can just as easily be not said, and having to consistently explain why it sucks to hear/read such language. Just because you used a racist term doesn't make you a racist, but it also doesn't mean you can't listen when someone tries to explain why using the racist term is pretty awful anyway. So suck it up, say sorry, and make a bit of fucking effort to be less of a dick. 

And that's why I can be prickly, annoying, whiny, whatever you want to call me. I'm a dick, and I'm trying to be less of one.

"Using a word which you know to be politically or socially volatile, and then saying ‘pff, it’s just a word, cool down guys’ is a bit like letting off fireworks in the high street and going ‘hey, it’s just explosives, it’s not my fault if someone gets in the way’" - Mark Watson

[This post doesn't nearly cover everything I want it to, but hey if anybody wants to talk about this more, hit me up - talking things through is amazingly good at helping me realise exactly what my opinions are any why.]

EDIT: as a friend rightly pointed out, the original version of this post used the word 'lame', which is ableist language. I really am a dick. I've now removed it, and I am so sorry.

*and by 'Anon', I mean 'one of those quotes that circulates on tumblr so I don't know who said it first'. If you do, let me know and I shall happily credit it.

**And by PC language, what I DON'T mean is the ridiculous insistence that "you're not allowed to sing Baa Baa Black Sheep in schools any more" and othersuch straw man arguments. We all know those instances are absurd and rare, stop bringing them up.

***This explains things quite neatly. 

----

A few more links that may prove interesting, and are related to this whole topic here, here, here, here, here and oh god there's thousands I can't link to them all but everything is super interesting and important and just read everything, k?

Baby's First Conference

WELL. I thought post-dissertation life would mainly involve luxuriating in front of the TV watching endless repeats of Murder She Wrote, but it turns out to be even busier than before!

Alongside PhD applications, conference abstracts, and discussing potential teaching opportunities, I have started a new job; I'm now Project Officer for the Temporal Co-ordination in Communication project run jointly by York and Cambridge universities. My role sounds far more fancypants than it actually is, but basically I am working on gesture and rhythm in speech, and analysing audio and visual data in various ways to investigate how participants negotiate communication using both their voices and bodies. It's SUPER interesting, and I'm enjoying it immensely - I learn about eight thousand new things a day, and working on an actual linguistics research project is the most amazing opportunity.

Wednesday saw my lovely bestie Becky visit Grand Old York, and we had a fabulous time getting spontaneous piercings, exploring the city and the Minster and such (I love any opportunity to go Full Tourist; despite living here for a year, it never gets boring), and kicking through bright autumn leaves like the big kids we are. Subsequently joined by Ed, we all later prepared my house for a Hallowe'en party which went off wonderfully*, with costumes ranging from the typical (ghosts, skeletons, etc.) through a-typical (Caeser, Alice Cooper), to the quite magnificent (a zom-bee, from an apiologist friend). My offering was Daphne from Scooby Doo**:

Jinkies

Following a fantastic few days (and a discombobulating trip around Illuminating York, which you honestly couldn't have thought up unless you were in some kind of trippy fever dream), a different Becky and I headed off to Manchester for the New Researchers Forum in Linguistics, where we would both be presenting our MA research.

I've never been to a conference before, let alone presented at one, so the whole experience was terrifyingly exhilarating. I learnt a staggering amount (with several of the talks being directly relevant to my work, which was incredible), met some truly wonderful people I very much hope to see again, and according to Sam, did my first conference 'properly' i.e. went out to the pub the night before giving my presentation.

My talk had run long every single time I did it, but I think the nerves of the day brought out my usual, jabbery self and I garbled my way through it just on time without missing out too many important points. Questions were helpful and not too intimidating, and people were wonderfully lovely about the whole thing. I know I have a tendency to a) ramble and b) flail about, so it's good to know people got the jist despite my ridiculousness.

Giving it my best presentation face (photo by Becky).

I think the best bit about the weekend was just being able to casually chat about, amongst other things, linguistics and language with like-minded, lovely folk who are just as keen-beany as I am. Glorious. I can see why conferences are so addictive!

One final thing that came from the weekend was a sprawling Twitter-based game of #linguistmovies, which spread into #linguistsongs, and got so fun I decided to collect everything together here - a page which will no doubt be constantly extended, as we continue to furiously procrastinate from our real work by making terrible/excellent puns. Hell yeah, linguists.

*even with the presence of a Jimmy Savile costume, despite my assurance that I wouldn't let anybody in if they were dressed up like him. Not big or clever, guys.

**I'm more of a Velma myself, but my hair is the right colour for Daph.

#BOOM

I am very sorry in advance for the tone of this post, which will be quite shamelessly giddy and slightly bragging, but please do allow me this little immodesty.

MA Linguistics, with Distinction

WELL THAT'S A BIT EXCITING.

Having had a weekful of sleepless nights and anxiety attacks waiting for my results to come out*, we were finally told our dissertation results on Friday. I was shaking like a leaf logging into e:vision, and promptly burst into tears upon finding out I'd managed to get the Distinction I was so, so hoping for.

Basically my reaction. For reals.

My dissertation was a little bit of a risk; there was little background, and the phenomenon I was investigating was entirely unattested. And thank the sun, moon, stars and cosmos it all worked out. This is so far beyond anything I could have imagined that I still haven't quite been able to process it.

So, yeah, I'm basically over the moon! This year has been both the best and worst of my life in parts, and I'm just so happy to have something to show for it, something I'm immensely proud of. And, of course, I am incredibly grateful for everybody who helped me stay sane; friends, teachers, counsellors, and my amazing family.

And now comes the next step; PhD applications are in the offing, and I'm presenting my dissertation at the Manchester Salford New Researchers Forum in Linguistics in a couple of weeks, my first conference. Both terrifying prospects, but incredibly exciting, and I feel so lucky to be where I am right now.

Onwards!

*Remember Little Miss Academic Insecurity? Yeah, this time of year is where that kicks into overdrive and starts to affect me physically as well as mentally. Fun times!

Taming of the Shrew, Shakespeare's Globe, 13th October 2012

Oof, I do love theatre. Next to linguistics, it is the light of my life. Compared to last summer, where I practically lived in London and overdosed on the stuff, this summer has been pitifully theatre-bare (pissing all your money away on an MA and then spending your summer writing a thesis for said MA kind of shoots any kind of recreational theatre horse right in the face*). However, I made sure to book for The Globe's closing weekend the day the tickets went on sale -- last night performances always have that something special about them, a kind of exuberant frenzy tinged with sadness from the cast and creatives, and in a theatre like The Globe, that's all the more electric.

Following a thoroughly excellent housewarming party at our new abode, I tore myself out of bed and just about managed a five-hour coach journey to London with a stonking hangover (remind me again why I continue to drink wine?), but was cured by the fresh yet biting October cold, the presence of Emma, and a little hair of the dog.

Classing it up with melon martinis

After a thorough deconstruction of the recent terrible life choices of Team Shameless, we wandered Globewards, queued for a time, and got a sweet spot thrust-left alongside Sophie, Jo, Jan, Rhian, and Rob, living proof that people you meet on the Internet are uniformly excellent.

Our first show of the weekend was The Taming of the Shrew. Though I know the text, I've never seen a production before and have heard that, pitched poorly, it can be DIRE, being one of the most problematic of Shakey's plays to transfer to a modern, enlightened audience. This production, however, overcame any and every issue with the text, resulting in a sparky, filthy, hilarious and gorgeous rendering of the play which left me giggling and delighted for the whole next day.

The onus of responsibility for pulling off a good Taming is going to rest on your leads, and Samantha Spiro and Simon Paisley-Day carried it brilliantly, fizzling with chemistry from their very first moment, and managing the tricky textual relationship between the lovers perfectly. Their Kate and Petruchio were swaggering, kinky and super hot for each other (without betraying their own integrity), and there something about a height difference that makes a Kate/Petruchio dymanic all the more delicious (see also: Rufus Sewell and Shirley Henderson in Shakespeare ReTold).

Height difference!

The 'taming' scenes, where Kate bends to Petruchio's will were played like a game, with Kate indulging her husband very knowingly - a fantastic way of interpreting the script. This Kate has always had to act up to get even the slightest bit of fair treatment, that's all she knows, and this Petruchio sees that and wants to change her for her, not his own gain. Fabulous.

(Also, Simon Paisley Day spends a goodly amount of this production in a thong-codpiece. Props to him for braving the cold, and for having some killer hipbones.)

The younger, flightier Bianca and Lucentio were adorably interpereted by Sarah MacRae and Joseph Timms; the former adding fantastic, calculated cruelness to the textually weak sister, and the latter being the most puppy-eyed, giddy-hearted sap you could hope to see. The entire supporting cast were faultless, adding tiny slivers of comedy to nearly every line and filling the stage with a cheeky exuberance which left you feeling scandalised - in a good way.

Even with such strong leads, two of the supporting roles were absolute scene-stealers. Tom Godwin's Biondello was brimming with rakish charm, twinkly-eyed asides and hilarious physical comedy. From miming the contents of a letter to book-carrying and wielding a sword, everything was executed hilariously and on-point. Jamie Beamish played a beaming (no pun intended), ridiculous Tranio whose exaggerated everything had us consistently in stitches - whenever he, Timms and Godwin shared a scene I swear my face hurt from grinning so hard.

This photo had to be embiggened, for facial expression reasons.

Special mention should also go to Pearce Quigly, whose lackadaisical, snarky Grumio was a thing of beauty, and who managed to make kicking a bucket the most spectacular joke of the night.

Throw into the mix some glorious music, typically gorgeous costuming and a beautifully tender ending and you're left with several hundred raucously cheering theatregoers. All in all, a tremendous stonker of a show with buckets of vibrancy and even more heart. The Globe at its best**.

*That metaphor kind of got away from me there.
**I do think The Globe owes me some recompense for the fact that I shall never be able to get the incredibly catchy Cuckoo's Nest song from my head, mind. However, if you've been standing for three hours watching a show, imitating supernumerary Robert Heard's brilliant 'Cuckoo's Nest Wiggle' is great for the spine.

Doctor Who, Series 7, episodes 1-4

I cannot lie, a second, sneaky reason for reinvigorating this blog was as a place for tellyfeelings, because - lo! - it is Autumn, which brings the best of all the television and more and more reasons not to leave the house. Strictly Come Dancing! Downton Abbey*! The Thick of It! Parks and Recreation! Elementary! New Girl! Spy! And a million and one other new and returning shows delighting (and occasionally frustrating) my eyeballs.

Most of my current feelings come, as always, from Doctor Who, which remains the show of my soul. (I wouldn't have it any other way - I honestly hope I never grow out of it.) And so, here's some brief thinky thoughts about Series 7 so far:

Asylum of the Daleks
An interesting season opener, but rife with flaws and frustrations. Really enjoyed the idea of a Dalek asylum, and having other species suffering from PTSD, even a species with famously little emotion. Oswin was a darling, and I am thoroughly excited to see how it works out with her character, timey-wimey-wise. (There were a billion plot holes and things that will need explaining, but - sigh - this is what we are used to.) Regardless, Jenna Louise Coleman is precious, and I'm always excited for a new companion. I just hope Moffat does her justice.

Alas, the episode was thoroughly sullied by the ridiculousness of the Amy/Rory dynamic. It was, in short, bullshit, and made them both look like idiots: Amy for not voicing her feelings, and Rory for playing the martyr card yet again. And, really, in this day and age, would a young couple who can't naturally have children seriously not think of other avenues - adoption, fostering, surrogacy, IVF, or - I don't know - not having children? It cheapened their relationship, and drove me fucking nuts. A shame, really, because the rest of the episode was decent.

Dinosaurs on a Spaceship
I've read mixed reviews of this one, but I am firmly on the 'loved it' side. It was, as Hector puts it, "sheer, calculated silliness"; a good old jaunt full of spacey-wacey, timey-wimey ridiculousness. And DINOSAURS. What's not to love? Of course, the random addition of Queen Nefertiti and silver fox Rupert Graves (who probably had a character name, but it escapes me) was daft, but the whole thing was sweet and fun and lovely. Brian Pond was a delightful addition (how could a character played by Mark Williams not be?), and his mini-arc was absolutely gorgeous, bringing several tears to my eyes. All in all, not a groundbreaking episode, but charming all the same.

A Town Called Mercy
Toby Whithouse is a reliably excellent writer (still not over how awesome The God Complex was), and this was no exception. A really thought-provoking episode with solid plot and characterisation, and a good old moral dilemma. The wild west was gorgeously portrayed, Adrian Scarborough was - again - reliably brilliant, and it tapped into some aspects of the Doctor's psyche (guilt about the Time War, never wielding weapons, what to do when a bad guy's also a good guy, etc.) which have been lately untapped. The Ponds were a little superfluous, but overall it was excellent.

The Power of Three
WARNING: feelings ahead. Absolutely my favourite episode of the series so far. I've heard people criticise it for its lack of plot, so I'll tackle that first. I admit, the resolution was hasty and hand-wavy, but the underlying plot was really solid -- the idea of a slow invasion, one that encourages people to trust the invadee, is excellent, and I thought the whole 'we need to stop humanity before they colonise space' was a brilliant observation (which, I concede, would benefit from being explored properly), and one that reflects cleverly upon our nasty tendency to stick a flag in things and call them ours. (Also, can we have more Kate Stewart in the future, please? Because awesome.)

However, this episode wasn't really about the plot. It was ALL about the characterisation. Oh, and what characterisation it was! In the new series, we haven't explored the dynamic of having the companions gradually fade from the Doctor's life of their own accord; Martha left, but succinctly, and otherwise it has been a swift memory wipe** or banishment to a parallel universe which has signalled the end of a partnership. I liked that Amy and Rory came to realise, enjoy and stand up for the importance of their everyday lives, and build a normality that wasn't based around the Doctor - it's important for their characters.

And the Doctor's reaction was beautifully explored. The scene on the Thames, "you're the first face this face saw, and you're seared onto my hearts" - oh my soul, just gorgeous. He's so used to being the dazzler, the one everybody runs to, that he never quite realised that he runs to people too, that he needs them. And Amy in particular has always been this little girl fascinated by him -- she was the girl who waited, and he's finding it hard to deal with the fact that she doesn't want to wait any more.

And yet, they make such a wonderful team - while Amy and the Doctor have a special bond, Rory is fully integrated into the ~gang, as demonstrated by the badassery of this shot***:

Sauce

Ach, it was just a perfect example of the Doctor/Amy/Rory dynamic - the Ponds and their temperamental space toddler. (To some extent, they really have brought him up!) Of course, this comes but a week before what promises to be a gut-wrenching finale full of woe. But for the moment I'm happily not listening, and am just basking in what was a bloody excellent episode.

*Downton may get its own post, which will mainly be made up of 'WHEN DID THIS SHOW GET GOOD' written over and over again.

**Still bitter.

***Don't even get me started on how good Arthur Darvill looks this series. Your hair looks sexy pushed back, etc.

Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Were this blog a real-life book, I would be dragging it out from under my bed and blowing dust off the cover. I have been spectacularly neglectful recently; dissertation-madness can take most of the blame, but in general it has been the most spectacularly awful two months*. Heartbreak! Family illness! Everyone I love having emotional breakdowns and crises at the same time! etc. etc. moan whinge.

I am only allowing myself the briefest of whines about all this gumph, however, because the whole damn point of this blog post is change! Newness! Epiphanies! I have one more week until I move into my new house for the year with a lovely bunch of new and old friends, and I am so ready for a change I can't even tell you. New house, new academic year, new ventures - I'm currently looking for work in York, while I spend the year applying for PhD schemes and funding. Really looking forward to getting to know new people, developing new skills and having a bit of a brain break. (Not too much, mind. I'm presenting at the Manchester Salford New Researchers Forum in Linguistics in November - aaaaaah!)

In amongst all the ANGST of the past few months, I have found both solace and eternal frustration in my dissertation, which I submitted eight days ago.

It liiiives.

My preeeecious. Good lord it's terrifying thinking that someone may currently by hacking at this with a red pen, cackling wildly at my terrible prose and ludicrous ideas. I'm working on a blog post that will (hopefully) explain the content of the thesis in non-linguisticky terms, so I will refrain from doing that now, but it has been a labour of love getting it done, and - much as I'm worried about the impending judgement - I'm proud of it.

The MA has finished with a fizzle rather than a bang. Variable deadlines, people going on holiday and a general bereft melancholy that has beset us all has meant that there wasn't really a definitive ending to the whole thing. The finicky time between submitting and moving house has been filled with seeing people before they leave, museum-visiting and frantic job-applying. I feel really lucky that I've made great friends with people from various far-flung corners of the world this year, and hope to visit lots of them in the future. Today's particularly tearful goodbye was to Ali and Bri, two wonderful, wonderful girls who have made this year immeasurably better. You know people are friends for life when they screech AVPM songs with you at 2am <3

And today? Today I have fallen in love with cycling. I bought some roller blades a couple of months ago; I was always more of a skatey child than a bikey one, so wanted to reignite my love of skating. I did, but the pavements and roads around York and prohibitively bad (cobbles! *shakes fist*), and it just wasn't viable to use it as a method of transportation. I'm going to keep skating recreationally, but I bought Ali's bike from her to give that a go instead.

IT'S WONDERFUL. I now wish I'd had a bike this year - I was so worried I'd be bad after so many years off, but, whaddya know, riding a bike really IS like riding a bike! I fancied getting out of the house today, so I cycled off with no particular destination in mind, and ended up accidentally cycling about 20 miles altogether! Around local villages, up and down the Ouse, and the whole Solar System route, all in beautiful sunshine, taking in the most wonderful Yorkshire scenery. My thighs may not forgive me tomorrow, and I am already suffering from sore butt syndrome, but it was such a wonderful way to spend and afternoon. I returned quite invigorated :)

Cycle-weary, but sunshiney happy.

At the final solar system point - Pluto. Still a planet, dammit!

More regular blog posts, including (I hope) more cycling adventures, to come!

*I appreciate I haven't updated since the end of May, but shh.